The Redemption of Sarah Cain (30 page)

Anna Mae brought up a lunch tray with the homemade chicken soup Lydia must have made. The girl inched her way across the floor, holding out the tray as she approached the bed.

Not wanting to expose Anna Mae to her germs, Sarah nodded her thanks, accepted the offered tray, and waved her away.

‘‘Will ya be needin’ any salt?’’ asked Anna Mae.

‘‘Thank you, but no . . . this is fine.’’

Anna Mae pointed to a small silver bell in the upper lefthand corner of the tray. ‘‘Lyddie says to ring the bell if ya need anything at all . . . or when you’re through with your tray.’’

Again, Sarah nodded. ‘‘I appreciate that. It’s very thoughtful of you,’’ she said, almost before she realized that she had complimented the shy girl.

‘‘Denki.’’ Anna Mae dipped, turned, and exited the room like a miniature French maid.

Now that she had refused the salt, Sarah tasted the soup. It was beyond delicious. She must have the recipe for herself. To think doctors were baffled by the mysterious ingredient in chicken soup that supposedly helped cure the common cold!

Even so, if her fever didn’t break soon, she would definitely surrender to the modern method of fighting such miserable symptoms—an old-fashioned aspirin!

Caleb and Josiah worked to shovel the heavy wet snow off the walkway leading to the barnyard while Hannah and Anna Mae used their brooms to sweep behind the boys. Indoors, Lydia washed the dishes, scrubbed the kitchen floor, and wiped down several walls and all the appliances. She darned the rest of her brothers’ socks, mended rips in dress seams, and, last but not least, made a quick ‘‘gratitude list’’ like her friend Fannie often did, jotting down things she was most thankful for.

Right away, she knew what the number one spot should be. Thinking of Miriam Esh’s revelation—vague as it was—Lydia wrote at the top of her list:
I am thankful for God’s providence
.

Lydia was ever so excited to meet with two seasoned teachers— Mary Fisher, from the Esbenshade Road School, and Susannah Stoltzfus, the present teacher at Peach Lane School, who was leaving her teachin’ post due to her parents’ relocating to northern New York. Both young women arrived long before supper and stayed for a good two hours. They seemed happy to share their ideas, showing Lydia how to plan the school day, fitting in all subjects from vocabulary studies to geography to German. She, in turn, offered them some coffee and cherry pudding.

When all was said and done, Lydia decided to keep the same starting time of 8:30 in the morning, followed by a Bible story and the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. What she
would
change was the appointed time for unison singing. Her pupils would sing three songs from the
Ausbund
, the Amish hymnbook, after the prayer. Next was arithmetic, followed by recess at ten o’clock, lasting just fifteen minutes, then the children must return to their lessons. At noon the big rush to the lunch buckets began. If she remembered correctly, most of the children gobbled up their lunches in ’bout five minutes, then ran outside to play for the remainder of the hour. Silent reading followed the long recess. After that, she planned to assign lessons to each of the eight grades, lined up in specific grade by rows of desks. Students would be dismissed at three o’clock in the afternoon to walk or scooter home on nice days.

She thanked Mary and Susannah for their help and encouragement, then went with them to the door to see them off.

‘‘You must let me know how you get along,’’ Susannah said as she headed outside. ‘‘Mam can give you our new address at Preaching service tomorrow.’’

‘‘Jah, I’ll write a letter to you soon as I can.’’

Susannah grinned. ‘‘I can tell you one thing—I’ll be missin’ your little brother Josiah. He’s a handful but still lotsa fun.’’

‘‘You aren’t tellin’ me anything,’’ she replied. ‘‘Denki for puttin’ up with his shenanigans.’’

‘‘Well, what’s a teacher for?’’ Susannah said. ‘‘Remember, there’s quite a difference between joyful and rowdy, jah?’’

Lydia nodded, remembering that Mamma had often said the same thing. ‘‘What ’bout Anna Mae?’’ she asked hesitantly. ‘‘Has
she
caused you any trouble?’’

‘‘Sometimes she’s off in a world of her own, that’s all.’’

‘‘Daydreamin’, wouldja say?’’

‘‘That . . . and a bit of mumblin’ to herself.’’

Lydia had hoped her sister might’ve taken their late-night talk to heart. ‘‘Mamma’s passing has been ever so hard on her— all of us, really.’’

Susannah came back to the door. ‘‘Truth be told, I’m glad your mamma’s sister is here now. Her coming seems to have helped Anna Mae some. She’s doin’ better at school, ’specially the last day or two.’’

‘‘Do you think so?’’

‘‘I
know
so,’’ Susannah said. ‘‘And I hope your aunt Sarah will stay ’round here . . . ’least for the younger children’s sake.’’

‘‘Me too.’’ She paused, thinkin’ how to say what she honestly wanted from Susannah. ‘‘Will you pray for me . . . that I’ll do a right gut job as a teacher?’’

‘‘Ach, Lyddie, you’ll do just fine. Don’tcha worry none. I have all confidence in you.’’

She waved as the women scurried through the snow to their waiting buggies. ‘‘
Da Herr sei mit du
—the Lord be with you!’’ she called, the weight of responsibility settlin’ over her just then. Yet she could hardly wait to begin, hoping against hope that nothin’ would come up to spoil this wonderful-gut opportunity. A dream come true!

After closing the back door, Lydia hurried into the kitchen and noticed Anna Mae had already begun peelin’ potatoes. The water was boiling, too. ‘‘I see you got supper started,’’ she said. ‘‘That’s gut of you.’’

‘‘Thought I’d best help a bit, since our aunt’s under the weather,’’ Anna Mae replied.

‘‘How’s she doin’ anyway?’’

‘‘ ’Bout the same. She could use a gut dose of cod-liver oil, prob’ly.’’

Lydia chuckled. ‘‘Have
you
had your portion for the day?’’

Anna Mae’s eyes were suddenly downcast. ‘‘I hate cod-liver oil.’’

‘‘You don’t wanna catch what Aunt Sarah’s got, now do ya?’’

‘‘Can’t!’’

‘‘What’d you say?’’ Lydia asked, mindful of her sister’s belligerence. ‘‘I
hate
the taste of fish oil . . . and I won’t be catchin’ no fancy woman’s illness neither.’’

‘‘Don’t be
Bensel
—a silly child—Anna Mae.’’ She thought on what she should say next. ‘‘Best not to say ‘hate,’ neither.

Doesn’t become you.’’

Her sister made a face. ‘‘What you mean to say is that Mamma would be dismayed if she could hear me, ain’t so?’’

Lydia sighed loudly.
What am I to do with her?

‘‘Well,
ain’t so
?’’ Anna Mae insisted.

‘‘Sister, don’t talk that way.’’

‘‘What way—’bout the fish oil or ‘ain’t so’?’’

Ever so frustrated, Lydia wondered what it would be like teachin’ her own sisters and brothers at school, as well as tryin’ to be a good example to them at home. Somebody had to, ’specially when it came to Anna Mae. The girl needed a firm and steady hand.

Lydia hoped somewhere along the line things might settle down at home with Anna Mae. She just couldn’t stand for any of this back talk goin’ on, and if Anna Mae didn’t respect Lydia’s teacher’s authority at school, she didn’t know what she’d do. For sure and for certain, she must show Preacher Esh and the People—the children, too—that she was in charge.
Antwatt-
lich
—responsible. Jah, on the very first day she must earn their respect.

‘‘I understand you begin teaching school this Monday.’’ Aunt Sarah made the comment from her sickbed when Lydia took more tea upstairs.

‘‘Jah, I do.’’ She felt hesitant to share more, ’specially since she’d withheld the information earlier.

‘‘You have strong leadership qualities, Lydia.’’

She was surprised to hear such words comin’ from Aunt Sarah.

‘‘I’ve observed you with your brothers and sisters for nearly a week, and I have every reason to believe you will do an excellent job.’’

‘‘With all my heart, I want to.’’

‘‘And you will.’’

‘‘I have all confidence in you. . . .’’
Susannah’s words had been heartening, all right. And now Aunt Sarah’s, too. Still, Lydia wondered how to bring up the topic that was truly on her mind.

Setting the tray down in front of her mamma’s sister, she steadied the mug of hot tea. ‘‘I’ve been meanin’ to ask you something, Aunt Sarah,’’ she began. ‘‘I’ve been wonderin’ . . . will you stay with us till we find someone to live with?’’

The smooth temples knit into an instant frown. ‘‘As soon as I’m feeling better, we will definitely talk about that issue, as well as some other things.’’

She hoped Aunt Sarah wasn’t ’bout to spring something on her relating to Levi King, that she’d spilled the beans to

Preacher Esh. But it was easy to see her mamma’s sister was quite
grank
—ill. So certain things would just have to wait.

Meanwhile, she’d be prayin’ ever so hard ’bout Anna Mae’s contentious spirit, Aunt Sarah’s phone conversation with Preacher Esh, and Levi King, too. Just not in that order.

Lying in her sister’s bed, Sarah sipped her tea, remembering that at their father’s funeral, her contacts had slipped around in her eyes, due to her tears, making it nearly impossible to focus on the minister who stood behind the pulpit. She had not wept so much out of sorrow. It was regret that caused her emotional state that day. Regret due to her seeming inability to connect with either of her parents, or they with her. And Ivy had made no attempt to reach out to her at the funeral, but that was many years ago . . . before her sister’s supposed spiritual enlightenment. Why she thought of that crucial autumn day at this moment, she did not know.

She reached for the homemade cards her nephews had created for her. Holding them in her hands, she suppressed the urge to weep. No doubt her physical state was affecting her emotions at the moment. Nothing more.

Get well she must. The children downstairs—Ivy’s brood— deserved a home where they were encircled and nurtured by Plain folk. Not a blubbering, too-modern aunt, impaired by a vacant soul. A mere shadow of the woman she had once been. Yet she could do little to move ahead with plans while nursing a bad case of the flu.